by Jay Allan
The story of the second war was the tale of his grandfather. The Union was larger and stronger, and the second war began as the first one had ended, with defeat before the superior arms of the enemy. Until Rance Barron led a phalanx of young officers to the forefront, casting aside the fossilized high command and revolutionizing the Confederation navy. In a series of running battles, this new guard fought the Union to a standstill. The elder Barron hadn’t been able to liberate the Lost Worlds, but he had saved the Confederation from total conquest, and he’d become a national hero in the process.
Rance Barron’s exploits were taught in every school in the Confederation. But Tyler had memories of his grandfather the others didn’t…fishing trips to the cold rivers north of the family estate on Corellia, late night games of chess in front of a roaring fire. Rance Barron wasn’t just a great warrior to him, he was much, much more, and Tyler resented how the constant pressure and repeated comparisons so often pushed those pleasant thoughts from his mind.
The Third War had picked up where the second ended…at least until the Union managed to obtain intel on the location of Admiral Barron’s ship. The resulting attack cost the Confederation its greatest hero and threatened to turn the tide yet again. But the Union First died shortly after, and a massive power struggle erupted, crippling the enemy’s ability to wage the war.
Admiral Barron’s protégés had been quick to take advantage of the situation, but their victories were limited. The Union sued for peace, and the civilian government opened talks almost immediately. The military commanders begged for the authority to continue their attacks, but the Confederation was a republic, and its people and politicians were sick of war. The warnings of the generals and admirals, that once the Union restored internal order the threat would reappear, were largely ignored, and the war ended with the Confederation regaining two of the Lost Worlds, but leaving the remaining eight to enter their third generation in captivity.
Barron leaned back in his chair, putting his hand to his forehead. He wondered what his grandfather would have said, if his influence would have been enough to gain the support he would have needed to push the last war to a more definitive conclusion. But that was immaterial. The past was set, and now his own generation would have to finish what the previous one had left undone. The Union was determined to subjugate the Confederation. The better part of a century of warfare had proven that beyond doubt. If the Confederation was ever to have true peace, Barron realized, it had to do more than beat back another Union attack. It had to destroy its enemy…or at least inflict enough pain to make another attack unthinkable.
A small buzzer sounded, pulling him from his thoughts.
“Yes?”
“Captain, Commander Travis is at the door.”
“Open,” Barron snapped to the AI. The door slid aside, and Dauntless’s tactical officer walked in.
“I saw you were still aboard, Captain.”
“Tyler will do, Atara. I strongly suspect we are the only two members of the crew still on the ship. Or onboard again, should I say? I thought you left yesterday.”
“I did, Tyler. But then I got a comm from maintenance command. I’m afraid the fact that Dauntless’s captain is still lurking in his quarters is rattling the maintenance teams.”
“So they sent you to ease me out?” He laughed softly. “Very well, tell them you were successful. I’ll be out within the hour. Have they arranged quarters for me at the base?”
“Better than that, mon capitaine. The locals have invited you to stay at the finest hotel in Archa City. In the Starburst Suite, no less. I’m told it’s quite plush.”
Barron sighed. “Now you know why I try to hide onboard, especially this far out in the provinces.”
“They are honored to have you here, Tyler. It does no harm. Enjoy it.”
“I’d never be disingenuous enough to argue there weren’t advantages to being his grandson, Atara…but trust me, there are burdens too. Dinner with the local functionaries is a given wherever we put into dock, but we’re going to be here a month, so who knows what they’ll cook up. I wouldn’t put a parade out of the question.”
“It’s your lot in life, my friend. Your birthright. Take the bad with the good—after all, your grandfather was the greatest hero in Confederation history.”
“And he died when I was thirteen. I loved him, Atara, I truly did. But to me he wasn’t the great admiral, the hero. He was the man who taught me how to fish, who helped me restore an old speeder. We used to go out on these amazing camping trips for days and days. And then he went to war…and he was gone. I’m not him, as much as I loved him. I have to be my own man, and it’s wearying when all they want to see is some vestige of the great hero reborn.”
Travis walked up to Barron, put her hand on his shoulder. “You are your own man, Tyler. To me, to the rest of the crew. Everyone who works with you, fights alongside you…they know the real you. I know it’s hard sometimes, especially in places like this. People love your grandfather, they believe he saved the Confederation. But never forget that the people who truly know you value you for your own achievements.”
Barron forced a smile. “I do know that, Atara. But thank you for saying it.”
The two stood for a moment, silent. Then Barron looked right at his first officer. “Okay, Atara…you can go and tell them you got me off the ship. The coast is clear.”
Travis nodded. “Okay, Captain, consider it done.” She snapped off a crisp salute.
Barron smiled again and returned the salute. “Carry on, Commander…” He stood where he was, watching Travis turn and walk through the door. Then he reached over to a shelf against the wall, grabbing a small duffel bag and sighing.
Time to go see what the Starfire Suite has in store for me…
* * *
“You look like you’re feeling better.” Lise Varov walked through the door, her uniform showing the hasty tailoring that accommodated her advanced pregnancy.
Sam Carson smiled as his wife entered the room. He’d slept late…Lise had been hours gone by the time he’d stirred, halfway through her duty shift. He’d felt like death warmed over when he’d first dragged himself from bed, but a long—very long and very hot—shower, and a handful of analgesics had gone a long way to convincing him he would survive. A fresh uniform and a few pieces of dry toast had gone even farther, and he now felt almost downright human.
“I was in bad shape last night, wasn’t I?” Carson still couldn’t remember exactly what had happened. He wasn’t much of a drinker, but he’d taken a glass to toast his comrades. The next thing he knew, they’d dropped him off at his quarters…and he was pretty sure someone had carried him down the last stretch of hallway.
Lise laughed as she dropped a small bag on the table. “We’ve had our share of sendoffs in the chem lab too, but I think your mates from Dauntless put us to shame. I know combat units party harder than career lab rats, but you must’ve made a big impression in such a short posting.”
Sam nodded, a somber look slipping onto his face. “She’s a good ship…with a good crew. And Captain Barron is…”
“You really liked him, didn’t you? I asked around after you got posted there, and I heard some good things.”
“He’s a first class officer, Lise. He didn’t have to approve my transfer here, especially not with war looming. But he actually insisted.”
“I’ll have to thank him one day. It will be nice to have you here when it’s time.”
Customs surrounding reproduction and childbirth varied around the Confederation. Cloning was illegal on all but a few of the Iron Belt worlds, but controlled artificial insemination with genetic scans and scheduled induced births was common in the inner worlds. On most provincial planets—and the true frontier outposts like Archellia—things tended to be done the old-fashioned way. Sam and Lise knew their child was a son and, based on the prenatal scans, healthy, but that was all.
“Yes, I’m glad things worked out too.” Sam worked his face in
to a smile.
“You’re really going to miss Dauntless, aren’t you?” Lise paused. “Or is it duty with the battle fleet?”
Sam hesitated. “Lise, you know I’m happy to be with you, and to be here when our son is born. But Dauntless is a good ship. I’ve been battle fleet since I graduated from the Academy. Leaving them when war is about to break out seems…”
“You’ll still be Combat here, Sam. Not Support like me. Archellia base is…”
“We just got back from the Union border, Lise. Where the war will be. I know I’ll still be Combat, technically at least, but it’s hard to imagine being farther away from the actual war.”
Lise shook her head. “I understand what’s bothering you, but I’m not going to pretend I’m not happy you’ll be safer. That you’ll be here with me…and with your son.”
“I’m happy about that too, Lise.” He took a few steps and put his arms around her. “I really am. But I still feel like I’m deserting my comrades. They’ll have a month of shore leave like me…and then they’ll go back to the front and wait for war to come. I’ll be here, safe with my family, far from danger.” He paused. “It’s just hard.”
“I know, Sam.” Lise stepped back from his embrace, and she put her hand on his face. “But I’m still glad you’re home.”
Sam smiled. “So am I.” He put his hand on hers. “So am I.”
Chapter Seven
Letter from Lucius Rigellus to his Daughter
Kat, I am leaving this letter because one day I may not return from one of my missions. If you are reading this, I am gone, likely killed in battle.
I have written several versions of this over the years, revising it as you have grown. When you were younger, my words were briefer, simpler. I told you I loved you, that I would always be part of you, even when I wasn’t there anymore. Those sentiments are as strong today as they ever were. My love for you has grown every day since you were born.
But you’re older now…old enough to understand what it means to be a Palatian. The way is the way. You have recited it since you could speak, as all Palatians do. But now it is time for you to understand the true meaning behind it. And also what it means to be one of the Regulli.
We are a proud family, Katrine, and our traditions are rooted in adherence to duty. Palatia’s history is one of shame, of subjugation and servitude. Never again, we have sworn, shall we be the victims…always the conquerors. This is the way. Remember it well, never forget…for it will demand much from you.
Begin your adherence to the way, my daughter, now, by not mourning me. If my life has been lost in service to our Alliance, have only joyous thoughts, for death in battle is honorable, a fitting way for one of the Regulli to die.
Grow, my child, revel in the joys of life at Litora Montis. Run, hike, feel the sun on your face. And when, in time, you reach adulthood, know that my pride follows your every achievement. I know you will bring only glory and honor to our great house.
Litora Montis, Rigellus Family Estate
Astara II, Palatia
Year 58 (307 AC)
Katrine fought off the wave of sadness. It was unbecoming to someone of her station.
It was disappointing perhaps, that she couldn’t see her children for a longer time before she embarked. It had been over a year since she had last been home, and she felt a longing to spend more time with them, hold them close. But duty was first. Always. It was the way. And it fell to her to teach them that lesson, by example. Her natural instincts to shower them with affection would only make them weak.
The way is the way…
She owed even the two days she’d had with them to Vennius, who had dispatched his private flyer to take her home. Kat had been ready to cancel her trip back to the estate after the Commander-Maximus had given her the orders to take command of Invictus, but the old man had insisted she return, that she visit her children, even for a few hours.
She smiled thinking of the old man. Palatians weren’t supposed to mourn parents lost in battle. They were supposed to proudly wear their status as war orphans. But she was still grateful she’d had a second chance to enjoy a father’s love and support.
She’d wondered if the children had been as anxious to see her as she had been to see them. She remembered her own childhood, her mother killed in action when she was only three, her life among the stewards and tutors of the family manor. Her father had been on campaign much of the time, of course, a ship commander first and then a fleet exec. She had seen him perhaps once a year on average, generally for no more than a few weeks, though she recalled one stretch of almost three years he’d been gone during the Eucallus War.
And then the last time.
She remembered the day she’d seen him off on that final mission like it was yesterday. It had seemed no different from the other partings. She was older, perhaps, than she had been before, but still a child. She had been first in her class, and the elder Rigellus had told his daughter of the pride he felt in her achievements as they had walked the grounds of the family estate. Neither had known that would be the last time they would speak…and Katrine held that memory close to her, feeling gratitude that her parting from her father had been a good one.
It had been a bleak day when she’d gotten the news that he’d been killed, the heavy clouds and fog rolling in off the sea echoing her mood. The pain, the urge to cry…and then the discipline, the Alliance’s hard teachings slamming into place. To cry would be to dishonor her father. There was no place for tears, and certainly not for a warrior who had died heroically, bringing victory to his people.
She looked out over the same rocky ridges she knew from childhood, the wall of stone that rose above the crashing waves. Litora Montis had been in the Rigellus family since the founding of the Alliance, when her grandmother had taken it from the offworlders who had ruled over it before the Rising. Kat had heard the story told many times, at her grandmother’s knee when she was younger, before the old woman died, and later from her father, and even the senior retainers on the estate. It was treasured family lore, the type of tale that most Patrician families had in one version or another.
The elder Katrine Rigellus, Kat’s namesake, had been, by all accounts, an extraordinarily beautiful woman when she was young…and that beauty had brought unwanted attention on occupied Palatia. Kat suspected the old woman had never been entirely truthful about the abuse she had suffered, but she’d lived to take her vengeance, leading the other enslaved Palatians on the estate against their former masters, and by all accounts, letting not a single one escape. Kat suspected the outworlders’ deaths had not been pleasant, and save for those who fell in battle, not quick either.
Gran was born into slavery, and she lived to see her world freed, her family established among the leaders of a strong and growing Alliance. She was a strong woman, and the matriarch of the Regulli. She could have done far, far worse…
Her eyes moved across the vista, watching the roiling waves of the sea. There was a storm coming. She could see the wall of clouds rolling in. It was part of life on the northern coast, especially in autumn, when the two moons crossed each other’s orbits, shaking up the tides and the weather. Kat had loved the storms as a child, sitting in the great hall in front of a roaring fire as the massive rains and wind beat against the house. The storms were deadly for the estates a bit farther south, lower lying and subject to catastrophic flooding. But the lands of the Regulli lay high up on a rocky plateau, above a wall of great cliffs that seemed almost to laugh at the sea’s attempts to challenge it.
Kay breathed deeply, savoring the cool morning air. She was accustomed by now to the recycled air and water on a spaceship, but she knew wherever duty took her, she would always miss the crisp autumn breezes of home.
It was early, predawn, only the faintest rays of morning glow illuminating the sky. She had risen hours before—indeed, she’d hardly slept. She knew how she was supposed to feel, but it was difficult looking into the children’s eyes, seeing the love
they felt, but the unfamiliarity too. She was proud to be a Palatian, but it was a heavy load at times.
Perhaps they are better seeing me less often. It will ease the burden on them if I fall. Doting on them would only make them weak. And they must not be weak, for they will inherit great obligations as well as high station…
She knew Alliance customs had purpose. Children had to become strong, self-sufficient…or they would make poor warriors. And then they would die. They would die in defeat…and those who followed would again know servitude. The way was hard, but it was the only choice.
They will still have their fathers if I fall…
Katrine knew many of the other human societies were built around one version or another of pair bonding and subsequent reproduction, but the Alliance had rejected such inefficiencies. Kat had borne children because it was her duty to do so. Her station had placed her in control of the process, and she had selected each partner carefully, paying far more attention to such factors as genetics and social standing than to emotional nonsense.
That wasn’t to say she hadn’t enjoyed the process—though it had been far more satisfying with one partner than the other. But such distinctions were unimportant. Attraction and pleasure had their place in recreational sex, and trust and affection certainly played their role in the selection of friends and confidantes. But she had chosen her mates for their DNA, and nothing more.
It was the way, at least among Citizens and Patricians. The Alliance frowned on cloning and artificial insemination, and reproduction was done the natural way. It was another duty, to preserve and enhance the family’s gene pool, to breed ever stronger and more capable heirs.
She’d had the higher social standing in both pairings, which meant the children had been raised as Regulli, the fathers assuming the roles of junior parents. Even if she died, the children would remain on the estate, raised by the family retainers to assume their places as the next generation of Regulli.